When the Stranger's Gone
by murtagh799
Summary: SEQUEL TO WHEN A STRANGER CALLS. Draco and Hermione had thought they'd escaped the terror a madman had thrown into their lives, but when Hugo falls sick and they're trapped in a web of politics that seem impossible to get out of, will they manage to save themselves in time? Why won't the black blade ever leave them alone? DRAMIONE. MATURE CONTENT.
1. Only a Matter of Time

A/N: **THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO WHEN A STRANGER CALLS – PLEASE READ THAT FIRST. **

Alright! I'm back! I know this has taken forever and I know that this is only the prologue, but bear with me. Even this wasn't easy to write. The first real chapter of this will be posted sometime tomorrow, so stay tuned for that. Don't forget to review! The last chapter of On the Other Side will also be posted soon for those of you who are concerned. I want to say thank you in advance!

**NOTE**: If you're leaving an anonymous review, please leave a name IN YOUR REVIEW so that I know how to address you (if you want a response at all). For some reason the site isn't letting people post up names. So that's sad.

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter or anything affiliated with it. This is not making any profit and is only for personal enjoyment. **

**WARNING: THIS STORY CONTAINS MATURE CONTENT, VIOLENCE, COARSE LANGUAGE, SCENES OF A SEXUAL NATURE, AND SITUATIONS THAT MAY NOT BE COMFORTABLE FOR ALL AUDIENCES. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. **

**PROLOGUE: ONLY A MATTER OF TIME**

It was storming again, the rain pounding against the already crumbling building, eroding away at the sides of the desolate island. The air was gloomy, shrouded in grey – it was always gloomy, and it was always some shade of desolate colour – and the thunder only added to the depressed atmosphere. It was obviously to the liking of the Dementors that presided over the island that housed Azkaban, the wizard prison. Moreover, it was especially to _his _liking.

Yes, Xenophillius felt at home.

Azkaban was just another grimy building, after all. In fact, his accommodations were rather nice compared to what he'd been crawling through the past several long, _long _years of his life. This place was not any filthier, no more depressing than he was used to.

In fact, it was positively cheerful, comparatively. He could hear the moaning of the other prisoners, and that made him slightly gleeful. He could hear the fellow in the cell next to his digging his already bloody nails into the stone again. It wasn't the most delightful sound, but he enjoyed hearing the demented screaming that the pain was obviously causing. Yes, he was home. This was home.

He was slightly on the surprised side that he was still here. His execution date had been set and then set again, only to be moved another few weeks down the road. He knew exactly _why _of course, though that had no consequence on his plans, but it was nice. Some time to soak up the monstrosity that was the wizarding world.

Oh, yes. Yes, he'd soak it all up and then they'd all perish.

A spatter of rain made its way through his prison window, landing on his face and chest. He contemplatively licked his lips, soaking up the water on his extremely parched tongue. It was almost disappointing, he suddenly decided. He was no worse than he was before he'd come here, no crazier, no more vindictive, and he'd had quite high hopes for a place like this.

In fact, he was quite normal. It was almost boring. He wished the dementors would come and play with him a little, but that wasn't happening, not any time soon. They were afraid of him, not that they would tell anyone except to whisper it amongst themselves. He could hear them sometimes, hear their magic whispering about him. They didn't like to come anywhere _near _him, lest he soak up some of _their _happiness.

It was disappointing, yes. Very, very disappointing. Especially since _one _little blonde brat had made sure he couldn't _feel _any of it.

He heard a crack and figured the man in the cell next to him had snapped his fingers again. If the screaming and spitting was anything to go by, the man had snapped his whole wrist. Xenophillus smiled. That was good. It would make the suicide attempt that much more entertaining. It wasn't as if the man had any other use to fulfill except entertain him. His life had been well spent thus far.

Perhaps he ought to encourage the man to snap the other wrist. That way, when the man finally did attempt to kill himself, it would be twice the hilarity. Yes, it would be fun, quite fun! And then Xenophillus could soak up the man's misery as his own. And then Xenophillus could laugh and be _entertained, _if only for a couple of minutes. Perhaps he could imagine that the prisoner looked like Draco Malfoy.

And that would be gratifying to no extent.

Oh, yes. Yes. How had he not revisited that subject in his head already? It had been too long. Much too long. Hours perhaps? Yes, he shouldn't be so forgetful lest the little prince get away. But of course, Draco Malfoy had nowhere to run because Xenophillus owned the world. Of course the little Malfoy would figure that out soon enough. Of course he would. It was only a matter of time.

Xenophillius had planned it brilliantly, after all. It was going to be _beautiful. _Savage, dark, and beautiful. Yes, yes. Yes. It really was only a matter of time. And then the little Malfoy would wonder why he had ever deigned to rise up against the likes of a Lovegood. No one stood up against _him _and survived. He would learn and then Luna would be avenged. Yes, his daughter would be _so _proud.

The manic smile on his face dimmed a little as he realized the beautiful music of sobbing and nail scratching had stopped. The prisoner in the cell next to him was just _sitting _there like a fool. Did the man not know his place in life? Did he not know his existence was purely for entertainment? Xenophillius sighed.

"Dig," he whispered in his most polite voice. People always responded to his polite voice. Always. "Go on, little man. Dig! You're almost there. You can make it. And then you'll be free. Free!"

There was more sobbing. "I can't. I can't!"

"You must," Xenophillius said, amused. "Don't you want to see your little baby again?"

The man became frantic, muttering, and bolstering his own courage. Of course he wanted to see his stupid fucking baby again. That hardly mattered. Whatever worked to get the imbecile's mind in the right place was acceptable for the moment. Xenophillius waited, his smile widening. It was a twisted, grotesque sight.

The sad little prisoner began to attempt to dig his way through the impenetrable fortress that was Azkaban with his bare hands. Xenophillius was pleased, glad that his entertainment had resumed. He leaned back in his corner, his thin arms folded behind his head for comfort. Yes, this was home.

When he heard a loud crack for the second time that night, and a bloody howl accompanying it, Xenophillius laughed. He laughed so hard he couldn't breathe. It was a truly sickening sight, maddening laughter mingling with screams of pain.

The Dementors stayed clear, worrying that the madman would somehow force them to open his cage so he could run away.

Hundreds of miles away, Draco Malfoy bolted up in bed, drenched in sweat with ringing ears.

Yes. Yes, it was only a matter of time.

**A/N: So, what did you think? Please let me know in a review if you have the time. Also, don't forget to follow me on Twitter (at reply murtagh799), which is where I post all updates and extra spoilers. Here is a spoiler for tomorrow's chapter: **

"_**Those in favour of declaring the marriage between Draco Lucius Malfoy and Astoria Malfoy nee Greengrass, raise your hands now," the speaker of the house said in his loud, booming voice. **_

See you all tomorrow! X

M.


	2. My Mistakes Were Made For You

A/N: Super fast update because I made you all wait incredibly long! I'm rather excited for this chapter. It took far too long to write (And I did rewrite it all at least three and a half times) but there you are. I'm quite proud of it. Please review if you have the chance, it really motivates me to update faster.

A special thank you to all of the lovely people who reviewed the last chapter: Summer rayne, buttercup, Fspsarcastic, Rephiamlove, ilovecupcakes xxx, Grace, and Georgia.

On to the chapter!

**CHAPTER ONE: MY MISTAKES WERE MADE FOR YOU**

"Those in favour of declaring the marriage between Draco Lucius Malfoy and Astoria Malfoy nee Greengrass, raise your hands now," the speaker of the house said in his loud, booming voice.

Draco held his breath, standing there before the entire gathered Wizengamot, hoping and praying that he had been convincing enough to make this happen. It had been a long, grueling four hour hearing, in which both he and Astoria had fought bitterly in front of highly respected members of wizarding society.

A quick glance in the direction of the bitch confirmed that she was as tense as he was. She was standing behind her chair like he was, gripping the wood like her life depending on it. Her hands were clenched so hard that her knuckles were a startling bone white, popping out grotesquely. Of course she would be afraid. She had been yelling like a psychopath in front of everyone who practically mattered in London – had told them things that were never meant to be said in front of _other people. _

_Bitch better regret it. _

He supposed she had more on the line with this verdict than he did. He would move on happily with his life, of that he was sure. He had Granger to think about and Potter would make sure he'd always be employed. What more did he want out of life? He had work, Scorpius, and his fortune. He didn't need her. What did she have? She _needed_ him. He had never considered where she would even go up until this point, even though it had been several months since he had first filed for the divorce.

Needless to say, she hadn't taken it well.

She had threatened him, had threatened to go to the Prophet and leak all of his secrets to the nosy writers that lived in the caves of the Daily Prophet offices. That hadn't worked, so she'd threatened to take away their son, Scorpius. When _that _had failed, she had tried to turn the whole of pureblood wizarding community against him for the "injustice" he was doing her.

As if anything was sufficient enough to qualify as injustice when dealing with the likes of the devil that was Astoria.

Unfortunately, that _had _worked to some extent. Divorce wasn't particularly common or accepted among the members of pureblooded wizarding community, never had been as far as he was aware. People had started to stop and stare at him in the streets, whisper behind hands, all those goddamn looks and all for the wrong goddamn reasons. No more invitations to the stuck up snobby parties, no more exclusive news about things he ought to have been privy to as was his _birth right. _

And it all could become a permanent reality in the next moment or so. There were several hands up in the air, more than he could possibly count. The speaker was doing for him, but the speaker was taking his bloody goddamn time. He was dizzy. If more than half of these relative strangers were on his side, he'd be free from the monstrosity that was his wife and labelled as a filthy blood traitor.

Was that what he really wanted? Really? Was he willing to sacrifice it all?

In any case, there was no more time to think about it, because the speaker was once again speaking. "And those against dissolving this marriage, please raise your hands now."

And a lot of members of the Wizengamot raised their hands, which the speaker began to count as well, just as slowly. Was that more than half? Draco stared but he couldn't be sure. A quick glance to the left revealed that his bitch of a wife was in much of the same state as he was. She had a grimace on her face, gritting her teeth, attempting to count out her future. Was she failing too? Did she know?

_She deserves it, _said the voice in his head.

It wasn't the normal Hermione-esque voice that he had become accustomed to over the years, and especially over the last few weeks. This was darker, more sinister.

_Rip her pride from her, _it whispered to him gleefully, evilly enough to make him shiver. _Make her pay for going against a Malfoy. _

He shoved it away to the farthest reaches of his mind like he'd been doing for quite some time now, had been ever since he'd cut the magic right out of Xenophillus Lovegood's poor, defenceless body. And it had been gratifying too. He wasn't going to say it out loud – who admitted such things out loud? – but he had felt _gratified. _And he knew that if he stabbed Astoria like he'd stabbed Lovegood, if he took away _her _magic like she so deserved, he'd feel good.

Better than he'd ever felt before. And she deserved it anyway. If anyone deserved it, it was her. So why didn't he? Why didn't he just cut her stupid mug right in half -

"The Wizengamot pronounces the marriage between Draco Lucius Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass null and void by vote of thirty three to twenty nine." Draco couldn't help the smile and the relief that was flooding through him, no more than Astoria could stop her knees from buckling on the spot. It was almost over. Almost. "And now, those who are in favour of Draco Lucius Malfoy retaining full custody of the child Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, please raise your hands now."

And this time, Draco didn't have to hold his breath, didn't even have to count. The tally was obvious.

He really ought to have stared to his left once more, should have seen his now ex-wife's reaction. If he had, perhaps he would have been more cautious of cheering. Maybe he would have found the murderous glint her in her eyes slightly...

_Suspicious. _

/

She stroked his hair, hoping it would calm his nerves some. Perhaps it did, but then again, perhaps it did absolutely nothing for him. He was a Malfoy, after all, and he was adept at hiding his true emotions, whatever they might be. She couldn't tell if he was frazzled, worried, or elated. Perhaps he was all of it or perhaps he was none of the above. So, she had to do what she could. She was glad he allowed her to pull his head into her lap and coddle him – if only for a second.

"She was crying, you know," he was saying, blankly. "Positively sobbing in front of all the reporters so they'd feel bad for her and paint me a monster."

Somehow, she could believe him. Not because he was her boyfriend of sorts and she _ought _to believe everything he told her (within reason), but because it seemed rather likely from what she knew of Astoria. The woman was everything a pureblooded woman would want to be – cold, brutal, beautiful, and poised. She was a snake, Draco had told her that on many an occasion, whenever his wife was brought up.

"They all stared at me like I was some kind of filthy traitor," he said.

Even though his words were accusatory in nature, even though it was evident that he ought to be upset about the entire situation, his voice was empty and his expression dethatched. It was as if he was trying to convince her, and himself, probably, that he didn't actually care. He was perfectly fine with all this. Yeah, he had planned it to happen this way.

"Can you imagine? Me, a _traitor? _In what world did that happen?"

She smiled, lightly stroking his cheek. "Well, you _did _leave your highly respectable wife for me – a low standing muggleborn."

"Fancy that!" he said with a laugh, the twinkle back in his eye. That relieved her to some extent. In that moment, he was Draco Malfoy again – passionate, extreme, gentle, and loving. _This _was the man that needed her, the man she was willing to take hate mail for (because there was going to be a lot of it when the papers came out the following day). "And anyway, it was a long time coming. The bitch had it coming to her."

She didn't say anything to that, what would she have said, anyway?

Sometimes, Draco scared her. She was sure it wasn't intentional on his part; he didn't seem to know he was doing it at all. But she couldn't deny that, sometimes, the vindictiveness in his voice was frightening. It was as if in those moments, he was completely absent and that cruel monster that lay dormant within everyone just flourished right out of him. She could see a little bit of his father in him.

Sure, his wife seemed to be a closet psychopath, but it didn't seem to her that he had put in any effort into his failing marriage, either. What was she to say? _Go back and make things work with your wife?_ She couldn't do that, not in good conscience. Besides, she rather liked him, even if he was rather scary sometimes.

Like he'd kill her - or anyone else - who crossed him.

But then, Hermione didn't often admit that she was afraid and this time would be no different.

"She said such horrible things about you and me in front of the entire Wizengamot," he continued, not knowing what direction her internal dialogue had travelled to. "Called you all kinds of horrid names. I suppose for _that _I feel vindicated. She can be destitute for all I care, the lousy little -"

Hermione stilled him, pressing her fingers over his beautiful lips. She'd stopped denying to herself (or anyone) that he was indeed beautiful, especially when he deigned to take care of himself. His hair was a beautiful golden white, like a halo around his head as he lay in her lap. It was positively gorgeous, just about anyone could see that much.

His features were exaggerated, overly defined. She wasn't sure anyone but him could pull of such angular features, such highly arched cheekbones, such a slanted nose, perfectly spaced eyes... and look as manly as he did.

"Like what you see?" he teased, snapping her out of her thoughts.

She hadn't even realized she'd been staring. Her hands stilled at his jaw. "Perhaps."

He smiled warmly at her and all of her remaining worries melted away with that single gaze. He had the odd ability to do that, to steal her thoughts and reassure her that things would be alright. As he pulled her down to kiss her full on the lips, she realized it was probably only natural that she felt this way. He had gotten her through the most difficult experience of her life when Hugo had been missing. If he could get her through that, he could get her through anything.

She rationalized that it didn't quite matter that he had been behaving rather oddly these past couple of weeks. Was it _really_ that odd that he would lash out at people randomly, angrily? Or suddenly become numbingly empty before her very eyes? She had always known he was slightly temperamental, after all, had known it before she had ever liked him at all.

And Draco Malfoy had more than enough reasons to be a prick these days.

Getting divorced wasn't easy after all, in general. And for him it was twice as difficult as it was a practically unprecedented occurrence between purebloods. It went against all of their customs, beliefs, and traditions. Even though Draco had stopped giving two damns about the lot of them and their beliefs after the war, these were the people he had grown up idolizing. That had to mean something. It was the life he was accustomed to.

And he had left it to be with her.

More than that, he was still recuperating just like she was, just like Hugo and all the other children were. He had seen things that just couldn't be undone. He had brushed death several times in such a short space of time. And, of course, his physical injuries hadn't fully healed. Not enough time had passed for everything to return to normal.

She wasn't sure if things ever _would _return to normal.

Things like this just couldn't be forgotten. Hugo still refused to sleep alone or be left in a room by himself for more than five minutes at a time. Hugo still suffered from nightmares just like she did, just like Draco did but would never admit to. She didn't force it out of him. How could she after all he had done for her?

Some things were better left unsaid – like what _exactly _had happened between him and Xenophillus Lovegood at the very end, or where he had gotten such a malevolent sword? And where had that sword gone anyway? And why did he _really _hate his wife? He hadn't given her adequate explanations for any of the questions she had and she hadn't asked them. She couldn't possibly ask them.

To ask such things would be to provoke unnecessary conflict and why would she want to do that? They'd come so far, _so _far, she just wasn't willing to sacrifice it all for a few answers. It was alright that he was temperamental and scary, because he was healing. They all were healing. She would give it no more thought.

After all, he had done it all for her.

Perhaps in due time, everything would work itself out. He had apparently gotten rid of the sword, which seemed like a positive thing to her. His wife was now out of the equation, so that grief and anger ought to go away with it. And as for Xenophillus... well, his execution was rapidly approaching. They had finally agreed to set a date for him to receive the Dementor's Kiss just last week. It would all be over soon.

But then, Hermione wasn't _always _right about everything. Maybe she really should have paid attention to the way Draco's eyes darkened when she wasn't looking, or the way his fists randomly clenched sometimes when she wasn't paying attention. Maybe she should have questioned _why _he was so angry all the time, or _why _he couldn't get enough sleep at night.

Maybe he would have told her about the face that haunted his vision night and day. _Maybe _he would've told her that he had the black blade on his person all the time, concealed out of sight. Perhaps he would've told her he just didn't feel safe anymore.

Or maybe he would've confessed that he was addicted to its power.

But she didn't ask any of those questions and he didn't offer any of the answers. They just sat there comfortably, discussing what the papers were going to say about him in the morning. They kissed each other sweetly and ignored everything else. Perhaps it was for the better.

Perhaps it was for the worse.

/

Hugo was coughing again and the sound was rather irritating. Scorpius didn't want to be mean or anything, but Hugo had been coughing nonstop for a _week _now and Scorpius didn't understand why Hugo just didn't tell his mother so his mother could give him some medicine.

But then, Scorpius didn't want to offend his new friend. Scorpius didn't have very many friends like Hugo, after all. Most of the children his mother would allow him to play with were absolutely _boring. _All they did was sit around and chatter about things that absolutely did not matter. They had no sense of adventure, no knowledge of _anything _that was important, and just plain scared of their mothers.

Not that he wasn't afraid of his mother. He definitely was... but his mother wasn't exactly here to scold him now, was she? He didn't have to study all day instead of playing like his father allowed him to. And Hugo didn't seem to have any qualms about not preparing to go to Hogwarts all day.

Even though Hugo did like to read.

But that was okay, Scorpius supposed, because he liked to read sometimes as well. Just not textbooks. Adventure books were fine in his eyes.

Hugo coughed into a tissue and Scorpius brought him a glass of water from the washroom. Hugo just waved it away though, and Scorpius got slightly irritated by that. He _had _gotten the water for the boy, hadn't he? Hugo should have at least _taken _it. It was the polite thing to do. Didn't Hermione teach him that or any manners at all? He stopped himself from thinking more on it, though. Hermione was always nice to him.

"Should I call your mum?" Scorpius asked helpfully. "I'm sure she has something to clear that up."

But at the mention of his mother, Hugo looked absolutely terrified. He didn't understand _why _Hugo should be terrified – it was _his _mother, after all. Scorpius didn't think he'd done anything wrong, so why should he have any reason to be afraid? Hermione didn't seem like the kind of person who got angry very easily, either, so this was all just very confusing.

"Please don't tell my mother!" Hugo was saying, wiping his face with his sleeve. "I just don't want to worry her, is all."

"But she can probably fix your..." His what? Disease? Sickness? Scorpius didn't know. "Coughing and stuff."

Hugo sighed, leaving Scorpius standing in the middle of his room and going instead to the fort they'd been building. It was mostly made out of chairs, pillows, and other random pieces of furniture they could find. It wasn't much, but Scorpius could pretend that it was their dormitory at Hogwarts. _That _was going to be fun, he imagined. Perhaps he and Hugo could be in the same house when they went.

He could hear Hugo's coughing, even through all the layers of sheets, blankets, and pillows. It was getting worse. Hugo had been coughing for weeks now – always in private. How he managed to hide it from his overprotective mother was well beyond Scorpius's knowledge. That was one of the reasons he really liked Hugo – he was very skilled and extremely determined. Rather crafty! Perhaps Hugo could teach him how to do that.

Scorpius crawled through their tent opening. "I really think you ought to tell your mum, you know," he said, offering Hugo his handkerchief. The boy accepted it – thank _GOD – _and Scorpius was able to lay down next to him gratified. "She could fix it for you if you'd just -"

"No," Hugo said, cutting him off. Which was really, really, really rude, but Scorpius didn't say anything. "I will tomorrow, okay? If I don't feel better."

"But why?" Scorpius insisted.

"_Because, _she's already worried enough!" Hugo said, far too angrily for his comfort. Hugo needn't have _yelled. _He really was only trying to help. But if Hugo didn't want his help, then that was alright too. Some people were just ungrateful – not that he'd ever say that to Hugo. Hugo would get offended. "And I don't want to bother her with this. It's really nothing."

Scorpius just shrugged. They both knew it wasn't just nothing. Being sick wasn't fun for anyone, especially not for Scorpius. What were they going to do if Hugo was just going to stay sick on purpose? They couldn't do _anything _fun, could they? And that wasn't going to work out for Scorpius. It's not like he was going to be allowed to stay here forever. His mother was also awfully protective of him. She was going to come get him any day now and demand he return to his studies.

And that was boring. Very, very boring.

"Do you think you could ask my mum if we could eat up here?" Hugo asked hopefully.

Scorpius regarded him, suspiciously. Of course Hugo didn't want his mother to know that he was coughing. He thought he was being a good boy hiding it and all. Maybe he just needed some more time and privacy to hide it from his mother. The idea scared him, asking Hermione to eat upstairs – his father would _never _allow it – but the pleading look the coughing boy gave him was just too much to say no to.

Nevertheless, he was seriously doubting himself when he found himself in Hermione's kitchen. It was nothing like the kitchen at the Manor, but it was nice enough. Was he actually going to do this? His father was talking to Hermione. Did he really want to try to defy manners just because Hugo didn't want to worry his mother with a cough?

Were friends really that important?

"Scorpius!" Hermione said warmly when she spotted him. "Have you come down for dinner? Where's Hugo?"

Scorpius reddened slightly at the attention, both from pleasure (his mother never paid that kind of attention to him) and fright. Because now he was going to have to tell her that Hugo was still upstairs. And she would go make him get the baby. And then Hugo would never ever be his friend ever again. They wouldn't even be in the same house at Hogwarts! He was sure of it.

"_Canwepleaseeatupstairs_?" he mumbled rather quickly, feeling like he was on hyper speed. "Hugo and I built a fort, you see. And... and! He wanted to eat there, eat dinner there. Like at a camp. Camp fire!" Was there such a thing as a camp fire or had he heard Hugo say it wrong? He didn't know but he hoped Hermione couldn't see right through his ploy. "Please? Pretty please? I swear we won't make a mess."

"Absolutely not," his father said. And Scorpius just had to stare down at his shoes shamefully. He'd failed _and_ he'd made his father angry. That was a doubly sad thing. "Go on, wash up and bring Hugo downstairs with you."

"Oh, Draco," he heard Hermione say gently. As he peaked up, he saw her place a hand gently on his father's shoulder. "Let the children play if they want."

For a second, Scorpius was sure that his father was going to say no and yell at Hermione. Manners and such things were really important, after all. Not eating at the dinner table with the rest of the family was just bad. Wrong. They even did it at Hogwarts. You had to have meals with your house, the other houses, and the professors. It was really weird that Hermione was agreeing. It was even weirder when his father sighed and shook his head.

His father would never have agreed if they were at the Manor with mum.

"Alright then," he said, giving Scorpius a stern stare. "But if I see that you've made a mess, you're going to be in a lot of trouble, young man."

"I promise!" Scorpius smiled, relieved and surprised that any of this was even happening. When Hermione carefully handed him two plates filled with food, he smiled even brighter, even though he spotted asparagus. He _hated _asparagus. "Thank you!"

Much later that night when they'd both gone to bed, Hugo was still coughing slightly. Scorpius tried his best not to sigh and his best to be helpful. Hugo couldn't help the fact that he was sick, no more than Scorpius could help the fact that he was blond. So that was that. He tried patting the other boy's back, but that didn't do much.

He had to admit though, when his father and Hermione came to say goodnight, his heart almost stopped. He was sure their game was going to be given up now. Hermione was very sharp, as was his father. They would notice everything. Like the tissues, and the dirty handkerchief, and the fact that Hugo had barely touched his dinner.

But as he glanced over, he found Hugo's eyes closed. The boy was actually feigning sleep.

And all Hermione did was smile and kiss his forehead like nothing was wrong whatsoever. His father did the same, and then they were both on him, kissing his hair and telling him it was well past his bed time. Did he want some milk? Why hadn't he eaten dinner? He just shrugged, trying his best to look sleepy.

Sometime later, they walked away, and Scorpius could breathe again. He could feel Hugo sigh, coming back to life when he was sure the adults were definitely gone.

"You're not going to tell your mum tomorrow, are you?" Scorpius asked carefully, staring at Hugo in the dark.

"No," the other boy answered eventually. "No."

And Scorpius wasn't even surprised.

/

It was rather late, _very _late – like one in the bloody morning late – and this skinny blonde chick had dragged her all the way to the Ministry of bloody Magic. At one in the morning! Rachel didn't even like coming here when it was hustling and bustling, and that was really the only time there was to be around such a place, if she was being entirely honest. There were no scandals where there were no people.

That was what her mother had taught her, after all, and mother always knew best. It ran in the family, anyway, the tendency to pick up on things that people wanted to hide and bury away forever. And the Skeeters did it best.

Nevertheless, Rachel had to yawn when blondie over there started calling the lift. Were they even allowed here? Were people actually working at this time? And if not – why _were _they here? Was this some kind of break and entering? Because Rachel was so not into getting fired. She'd only been working at the Prophet for a year!

They went all the way down to the Wizengamot court rooms, blondie refusing to answer any of the questions along the way (which was really bloody fucking annoying). By the time they'd reached the backroom prison cells where they kept criminals before their trials, Rachel was ready to call it a quits. Blondie could take her stupid story elsewhere.

The woman had approached her earlier, offering her what she had claimed was the story of the year. Rachel couldn't refuse – the woman seemed legit enough, after all – and she was famous. More than that, blondie had offered her: "Draco Malfoy's demise". Her words exactly. Rachel had been suspicious, but she'd been willing to go along, just to see what the drama was about.

_Everyone_ loved news about Draco Malfoy.

The guard let them through when blondie procured papers from absolutely fucking nowhere. So the woman was resourceful with her clothes. That was always handy. Especially when one didn't want to lug around a large purse. Rachel would have to remember that.

When they reached the only prison cell that had its door closed, blondie gestured for her to open it. Which was insulting – just because she was all high and mighty did _not _mean that Rachel was there to do the manual labour! But she did it anyway, too tired to be properly irritated. She just wanted to see what it was all about and then go home and sleep.

When she opened the door, though, she was sure she'd hit the jackpot. Because on the dusty little cot in the corner lay one of the prime suspects in the whole Xenophillius-Granger kidnapping case. Which had been the story of the CENTURY. Which had made Rachel famous and pretty rich since she'd been the one covering the article for the prophet.

They'd all just claimed that the nanny had been unavailable for questioning, but Rachel had had _no _idea that they'd been keeping the nanny in prison! This was huge. This was going to be an insane story! This was going to make her absolutely fucking famous –

"Who are you?" the nanny finally asked them.

"I," said the blondie. "Am your ticket out of here."

**A/N: I personally really enjoyed writing the ending! For those of you who don't remember Rachel from the last story, she was briefly mentioned in chapter 19 (Three Weeks Later) – she wrote all of the articles about Draco/Hermione/Xenophillius/and the kidnapping. **

**I shall try to get back into the habit of updating weekly. I'll post on my twitter when the next chapter is ready, but until then, here's a spoiler: **

"_**What could he possibly want from you, Draco?" she asked, clearly concerned. **_

"_**You mean, besides torturing me to death?"**_

**Unsigned Reviews: **

**Summer Rayne: **You are entirely too sweet, lovely! Thank you for this incredibly positive review and I really hope you enjoy this chapter.

**Buttercup: **Thank you! It's always enjoyable to hear from you. :) Hope you're enjoying this! On the Other side will be completed shortly as well. Until then! M.

**Fspsarcastic: **Hi there! Hope this update was quick enough. ;)

**Grace: **Indeed, Xenophillius is a tad bit on the insane side. Thank you for reviewing!

**Georgia: **Hello again! I'm sorry, I've forgotten your penname or I would've used that instead (if you mind, I'm really sorry!) Thank you for the lovely review! I hope you're not disappointed. Much excitement to come.


	3. Progression

A/N: Hello again all of you lovely people! I realize that this is insanely late, but I've been on vacation. Now that I am back (and horribly sunburned), you all should have regular updates. Hopefully this will go up once, maybe even twice a week! No promises, of course, but I will make the best effort I can.

Thank you to all of you who reviewed: buttercup, The Chaminator, bella Malfoy Cullen, glitterboden, HarryPGinnyW4eva, Peppermint Rocks, Miz1D, Riddle Crazy, and XxxTheBigBadWolfxxX.

**WARNING: This contains themes that is not suitable for all ages. Reader discretion is advised. **

**CHAPTER TWO: PROGRESSION**

Harry Potter was _not _a happy camper.

He was sitting in his office, scribbling furiously on the piece of parchment that was lying so innocently on his desk before him. As if that particular piece of parchment could be so innocent – bah! If the paper was innocent then... then Malfoy was chipper. Then his wife wasn't schizophrenic. Then Albus _wasn't _grounded for flushing his mother's wand down the toilet.

He shuddered, pushing that memory far, far away into the back of his consciousness. But it was a useless endeavour as he could still hear Ginny screaming at their son. Instead, he tried to focus on the letter before him. _No, _he wrote, he would _not _help pass a motion to outlaw muggles and wizards to co-exist in the same dwelling, and would they please, _please _stop sending him these automated owls? Thank you very much, next letter of correspondence, please.

Harry couldn't help but heave a frustrated sigh, glancing at the boulder of parchment sitting on his desk. He hated not having a case to work on, even if it meant that the Wizarding world was not in mortal peril, at least to his knowledge. It wasn't that he didn't want the Wizarding world to be safe and all that (if such a thing actually could exist), nor was he one who always needed to be the one who did the saving anyway.

It was just that paperwork was goddamn _boring. _

Things had been going rather tediously for Harry over the past couple of weeks at the Auror department. It wasn't anything unusual, of course. This department in particular often bounced between hectic, almost unbearable frenzy and dead beat lulls. In fact, the activity in the Auror department at the Ministry of Magic could be described as bipolar. Extremely, incredibly bipolar.

Quite a bit like his wife if he thought about it now.

Of course, he was used to it. He'd worked at the Auror department for long enough to become accustomed to the patterns of activity, enough that his body had become accustomed to it. But it had never been _this _tedious before he'd attained the position of Head Auror. Now there was always paperwork to attend to, people to placate, random items that needed his specific attention but didn't matter in any which way to anyone else.

Essentially, what he was trying to say was that paperwork was goddamn boring.

Sighing and sending a glare towards his desk, which was probably _all _he'd see considering how large the pile of paperwork was beginning to get, he got up to stretch and wander his office. At least the room was a far cry larger than the cubicle he'd occupied when he'd first started working at the Ministry. Doing paperwork in those days had been a backbreaking job. Hell, those days really had been different.

Glaring once more at the ever growing pile on his desk, Harry attempted to work the kink in his neck, wincing as his back cracked. He had only been at the dreadful job for a few hours and already his body was protesting the drudgery. Hell, at this point, he would even prefer a stake out, even though everyone at the Auror department had been conditioned to _loathe _doing any sort of reconnaissance. That was only reasonable as nine out of ten times it was dreadfully boring work.

Well, alright. Perhaps paperwork was a _little _bit better than watching buildings that did not move. Harry once again glanced at his inbox out of habit and spotted a letter from Hogwarts. And fuck if that didn't make him shudder. That letter meant that one (or all) of his children were in trouble and that most certainly meant that Ginny would have a fit when he finally made his sorry way home.

Everyone knew that when Ginny Potter was unhappy, her poor absolutely lovely husband suffered in the bedroom. Really, someone ought to get that woman's priorities straight! Didn't she know that sex prolonged wizard's lives? Didn't she want him to live longer? Honestly, one would think that if women truly loved men, they'd do everything in their power to keep them alive and satisfied.

And in more than one position, too.

He had to chuckle to himself at that, stretching his arms above his head. As he turned towards his open office door, his gaze was immediately drawn to a pair of squinty, brown, piggy little eyes. They would have been entirely unremarkable in any situation had they not been glaring directly at him. Harry slowly put down his arms, realizing how odd he must have looked to the stranger.

As Head Auror, Harry _did _have an image to maintain, though he rarely had the need to do so in front of his own team. They were more like a second family to him, a group of very close friends. They were people he would die with and for, just like they would for him. He had never seen the need to act official or formal with them – it would honestly just breed hostility. And who wanted that in this kind of job, where loyalty meant you could stay alive another week?

That was why he often forgot to act in the manner appropriate to his position when others visited his department. It wasn't so bad most of the time, he supposed, but when people like the man before him presented themselves, they expected him to live up to the image that the Wizarding world had built up for him.

Harry Potter, the boy who lived to kill Voldemort – defeated Voldemort and all the Death Eaters that had hid afterwards. Harry Potter, Head Auror, protector of the wizarding world.

That called for fucking official behaviour if anything did.

The man was still glaring at him, as if Harry had done him a personal, horrible wrong. This wasn't really what raised Harry's suspicions, of course. Harry had come to terms with the fact that wherever he went, someone would no doubt hate him for whatever reason. He had lived and done far too many things in his life to not have people who wanted to torture him to death. He had entered the Wizarding world with that particular cloud over his head and it wasn't just about to go away.

So, he was pretty much used to it.

No, what was so different about _this _man was his odd behaviour. Even though he was standing there, talking to one of the junior Aurors, his body was turned fully towards Harry and his glare was rather outright, completely unapologetic. Most people veiled their hatred, or at least attempted to, but not this man. It seemed as if every inch of this man was emanating hatred towards Harry, while still calmly talking to the Auror next to him.

From a distance, Harry could have probably mistaken him for a relative of Vernon Dursley. He was short, piggy, and turning an unseemly puce like colour – probably a side effect of glaring daggers at Harry. His hair was an ordinary shade of brown, clipped close to his scalp, and the man was sporting at least three chins. Perhaps four if he turned his head to the side, Harry really couldn't be sure from this angle.

Was he dangerous? Harry wasn't particularly sure. The wards on the Auror department floor weren't picking anything up (his wand would have buzzed and flashed a hot red if that were the case) so it seemed that the man, whoever he was, wasn't here to go on a mass murdering spree.

But was he dangerous?

He watched as the man handed a file over to the junior Auror to sign without even looking at him, his glare still focused on Harry. Though Harry was sure he had never even met the man, it was obvious that if he were ever alone in a dark alley with the stranger, he had better be aware. He could see the clenching of fists, the colour in the man's face deepening. Perhaps he was just having a seizure and that was just it. Or maybe his face was just naturally like that. Who knew?

But as the man narrowed his eyes, taking the file back from the junior Auror and turning away to go back down to the lifts, Harry was sure that that wasn't the case. Harry waved to the Auror that the stranger had been talking to, motioning for him to come to his office door. This was definitely something worth investigating, if only to delay returning to paperwork.

"Who was that, Davies?" Harry asked.

"That?" The junior Auror glanced in the direction of the lifts. "That was just the new head of the Minister's HR department."

Harry frowned. He hadn't heard that Shacklebolt had hired a new head to his HR department, though he doubted the new appointment mattered all that much. Perhaps Shacklebolt hadn't thought it worthy enough to notify him of the change. Yes, perhaps it wasn't important at all.

"Well, what did he want?" Harry asked anyway.

Davies shrugged. "Asked the usual questions they do. How my hours were, what my last case was, whether I'm satisfied and all that. I don't think he was very much interested if you don't mind me saying, sir. Quite an odd fellow, isn't he?"

"I suppose I haven't seen a man with that kind of...colouring before," Harry said with a shrug. Davies laughed and Harry had to smile. "How's the wife doing?"

"Oh, you know how it is," Davies said, his laugh disappearing off his face in a flash. "Women can be... difficult."

Harry chuckled darkly. Of course he knew. At least Davies hadn't married a redhead. They were certainly far _feistier _in all respects than Harry had ever been prepared for, even now. He waved Davies away, returning back to the paperwork that was waiting for him. Harry wasn't aware that the glaring man was going to have more significance in his life than the mounds of paperwork that he sifted through for the rest of the day.

But the glaring man did. And that was enough for the both of them to be satisfied.

/

Hugo had become accustomed to sleeping next to Scorpius by this point, but that really did not mean that he always enjoyed talking to the other boy all the time, listening to him chatter once mum had called lights out and tucked them both into his bed. Didn't the boy have any consideration of the _rules? _Hugo wanted to ask. Lights out meant it was time to go to sleep, not time to talk about anything and everything under the sun. Or stars.

Whatever the saying was.

But Scorpius didn't seem to care that they were supposed to be sleeping. He just wanted to talk, talk, talk, and talk some more. Perhaps it was because Scorpius had grown up alone like he had and was delighted at the prospect of having someone there to listen now. Hugo could understand that because it really was understandable. He had longed for a friend like Scorpius all his life.

But Hugo had also become accustomed to the silence in the little cellar below the wooden floorboards as well.

_They would rarely breathe aloud, Hugo included. The only light that they had to see each other with was whatever managed to filter through the cracks in the ceiling. It was enough – they preferred to hide in whatever shadows would keep them. Hopefully it would be enough to keep them safe, even though they all instinctively knew that nothing would keep them safe at this point. _

_They didn't need to voice that thought to each other, didn't really need to say anything at all. Because talking would draw attention to them, attention that was clearly unwanted. No one wanted the man to come downstairs and no one wanted to be the one that he paid attention to. Hugo had caught on fast. Hugo was probably the worst at keeping the silence among them, but they didn't mind. Hugo was one of them now. _

_One of them now. _

"What do you think Hogwarts would be like?" Scorpius asked, interrupting Hugo's memory just as his arms erupted with goose bumps.

Hugo took a shuddering breath, hoping that it wouldn't trigger the coughs that seemed to be a permanent fixture in his body. He really ought to find a book that would help him find a way to cure the coughs, really, but these days he was far too tired to do much other than sit and play easy games with Scorpius. Reading _those _kinds of books took far too much energy. He just didn't have the time. Besides, he was sure the coughing would subside soon enough.

All colds eventually went away, didn't they?

Scorpius nudged him, urging him to answer the question. It was a question that they both had asked each other a million times, but it seemed to be Scorpius's favourite topic to talk about. Hugo didn't mind, because it was one of his favourites too. After all, everything would be perfect when they went to Hogwarts. Magic, new friends, the castle, all the brilliant professors...

"It'll be fun," Hugo responded, not really in the mood to fantasize. Even though playing this particular game with Scorpius was always fun. "My mother says it will be fun."

"Of _course _it'll be fun," Scorpius said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Which, to be honest, it probably was. There was no place in the world like Hogwarts, after all. Every book he had read about the place had said so and books never lied. "There are ghosts, and Peeves, and millions of portraits, and they have amazing feasts in the Great Hall..."

Hugo tuned Scorpius out, deciding instead to stare at the ceiling, watching the shooting stars that his mother had magicked onto the ceiling when he'd been younger. He wasn't missing anything. Scorpius had spewed this tangent on many an occasion and Hugo could probably recite it in his sleep if he were pressed to do so. He was just tired. He could listen to the rant another day – probably tomorrow if Scorpius felt like staying up late again, which he probably would. He had quite the track record.

How did the boy function with so little sleep? Hugo couldn't understand because Hugo was always tired these days. But that was also something that he had become accustomed to.

_They all tried to stay awake as long as they could manage. This was healthy, as healthy as a habit could get in a place like this. If they tried to stay awake, those of them that were asleep could stay that way longer and then they'd be better rested, stronger. If they tried to stay awake, they would know exactly where the man was, what he was doing, whether he was coming for them down the stairs or not. _

_But at several points throughout the day and night, whatever the time happened to be, their eyes would start to droop, and they would start to fall asleep. And then they would pinch themselves until they bruised or even bled. They'd let the dripping water from the floorboards above their heads drip right onto their faces in some effort to be conscious. They'd even quietly bang their heads against the rough stone walls behind their backs. _

_But eventually, as such things were, they would fall asleep. And they would hope that at least one of them had managed to stay awake, or that one of them had slept enough to be strong enough that they could warn them if the man chose to strike. _

_They would have to trust in each other and they would have to sleep, even if it was a little bit and it wasn't restful at all. They'd have to do it anyway. They wouldn't cry about it, nor would they complain. They simply were just exhausted, all the time, every single minute of every single day. And that would be okay because they all were that way. _

_That way, Hugo wasn't alone. At least, at the very least, Hugo wasn't alone. _

"Hugo!" Scorpius hissed, tugging his arm back. "That hurt!"

"Sorry," Hugo muttered.

He hadn't even realized he'd been gripping Scorpius's arm, hadn't even realized that he had managed to hurt the other boy. He didn't feel ashamed about it like he would have... _before. _What was there to be ashamed about in something like that? The strange little girl had always allowed him to do such things, just like he had always allowed her to do the same to him.

_Aurelia, _he thought to himself. That was right. He knew her name now. _Aurelia Lovegood. _

"You were dreaming about _him_ again, weren't you," Scorpius stated. As if Scorpius knew anything about what had happened. Hugo wasn't even sure how Scorpius knew about his visions, the things he remembered. Could the boy see it on his face or was he just that obvious about it? This time, Hugo actually shivered. "Was it... was it that bad?"

Scorpius had never asked him that question in all the weeks that they had been playing together. His mother had never asked him to elaborate and he was thankful for that. He had had to tell the room full of people about what had happened, in court when they had had the trial of the evil stranger. And then he'd never had to talk about it again. No one had brought it up again except for the man that his mother made him see every once in a while. A Mind Healer, they called him.

And now Scorpius was nudging him again, expecting an answer that he wasn't sure he could give. Had it been bad? Had it even happened at all? Hugo wasn't sure. Perhaps he was still there, trapped in that little room. Or perhaps he was still in the cage with fires around him and all of his friends. He hadn't seen his friends since he'd been rescued, but maybe he hadn't been rescued at all. Maybe he was just asleep and they'd wake him up soon. It would be his turn to keep watch soon.

_Soon, _someone whispered in his head.

"Yes," he finally answered, when Scorpius wouldn't let up on his nudging. "Yes."

"Was it _really _bad?" Scorpius insisted.

"Yes," was all Hugo offered, even though he knew that wasn't what Scorpius was looking to hear.

What more was there to say except for _yes_? None of his other friends would have asked these kinds of questions. But then, _those _friends wouldn't have the need to ask such questions because they had been there with him, had lived through it just like he had. Had it been bad? They would've known how to put the words in his mouth. They would've known that such a question shouldn't ever be asked. What if the stranger heard? What would they do _then? _But he hadn't seen those friends in a long time and all he had was Scorpius, so that was what he'd have to settle for.

"You can tell me, you know," Scorpius said, shrugging. "Since we're going to be brothers soon and all of that."

That definitely gave Hugo some pause. "What do you mean?"

"I saw in the _Daily Prophet _that my father left my mother for _your _mother, so now we're going to be brothers," Scorpius said, his tone very official. So official that Hugo couldn't even doubt it. "Maybe you can come live at the Manor now! I have a lot more toys to play with than you do, so it'll be much more fun..."

And Scorpius chattered on. Hugo tuned him out again, because he had heard this particular rant too – about the Malfoy Manor. Hugo was sure it was fantastic and all, but he preferred it here. _Here _he could at least limit the exhaustion he went through. He could almost imagine what Scorpius would put them through if they actually went to a place as grand as the Malfoy Manor.

So, Draco was going to be his new dad. That was a little odd, but Hugo didn't think much of it. Draco was always nice to him and Draco had...

Well. Draco had come for him when no one else had. Draco had rescued him and his friends and had put the man in Azkaban, where everyone had their souls sucked out through their mouths. At least, that's what Scorpius had told him happened there. But Hugo knew that the man didn't have a soul, so it was really a pointless exercise.

At least this way, if the man ever found his way back, Draco would be here to deal with that. Hugo shuddered and pushed his way closer to Scorpius, pretending he was cold. He could live with Draco forever if it meant that he'd never have to see the stranger again. It didn't matter that sometimes Draco looked at his mother like she was something to hurt. It always went away in a second. It wasn't _permanent _like it had been in the stranger.

How would the stranger be like without a soul? Would he be unstoppable? Would he...

But Hugo didn't want to think about that anymore. Hugo just wanted to sleep now, even though he knew he'd be back in that damp little cellar, staring at the cracks in the ceiling above him. And he'd hold Aurelia's hand as he slept in her lap. It would be okay, she would tell him. And she would smile that barely there smile. No, he couldn't think about _any _of it anymore. It all just had to go away.

"Catch a falling star and..." Hugo began to sing in his wavering voice. Why didn't he remember the words? Had the gone away with the rest of him?

"And put it in your pocket," Scorpius continued for him, prompting him to continue.

"Save it for a rainy day..."

When Scorpius finally fell asleep, he sang it again. And again. Enough times that tears began to mysteriously leak from the corners of his eyes. As he looked up at his magical ceiling, he was sure the shooting stars were crying with him too.

/

_Draco was running. He was running fast, his feet pounding hard on the pavement. The impact sent shocks up his legs with every step, each inch forward jarring his knees. His teeth were chattering. Was it because it was too cold or too hot? Or was it because of the strenuous physical exertion he was putting himself through? Draco didn't care enough to know. _

_He was being chased. _

_No, he was chasing someone. _

_Yes, he was chasing someone. He could see them now, running ahead of him. Their body was nearly bent over double in the effort of attempting to outrun him. They were fast, Draco could give them that, but not fast enough. Not nearly fast enough, not if they wanted to survive him. No one was faster than Draco Malfoy. No one at all. _

_Draco could feel the power coursing through his veins, pounding through his heart and through his head. It was dark, darker than he was accustomed to, but for this kind of power he was more than willing to adjust. The voice in his head was laughing in agreement, so Draco just nodded. He smiled, but it was not a pretty sight to see. _

_But Draco didn't care how he looked. _

_The voice in his head said to __run, __so he ran. Obeying it only made the power surging through his body pulse stronger. It was the best fucking pleasure he had ever experienced in his entire life, and this wasn't something he was ever going to give up. No, never. He'd obey it, alright. He'd do anything necessary to keep it going. __Pulse, __he urged it. And so it did. _

_He ran faster. The poor little thing ahead of him squeaked in fear, renewing its efforts to outrun him. They both knew that wasn't possible, though. Both of them knew how this was about to end. Draco was going to catch them, and when he did, he would kill them. Yes, he could feel it now. Among the sweat that was dripping through his matted hair and the grinding of his pointed teeth, there was the ever present lust for death and blood. _

_Yes, he would catch that someone and drink their blood. _

_Draco made one last lunge and reached his target. The little thing hadn't stood a chance against him, though the effort had been valiant. Draco smirked as the frail body fell before him, sure he had heard several bones snap at the impact. Judging by the awkward angle that she was laying this was the case – for now he was certain it __was __a she. Her hair was long and curly. She was skinny and her skin was a nice peachy colour. _

_Ripe. Hot. __Pulsing. _

_Draco licked his lips. _

_Approaching the now broken figure, he kicked her over, revealing her pretty face to his cold, cold eyes. He should have been surprised at the face that met him, should have felt some kind of pity for the pleading in the girl's eyes, but all he felt was hunger. He wanted to rip the flesh from her bones and burn it in a fire. He wanted to feel her cries and then drink up her tears as she shrivelled up before him. _

"_Draco," she pleaded, begging him. "__Please__."_

_And if that didn't make him harden fully, fuck if anything did. _

_He kicked her again, this time in the ribs. She screamed, which made him grin. She began to sob, which made him throw himself down next to her and chuckle in her ear. When she shivered in pure disgust, he outright laughed in her face. _

_Hermione Granger __was __a mudblood, after all. And this was what mudbloods' deserved._

_His hands closed around her tiny little neck, feeling her pulse flutter beneath his fingers. It gave him a rush to know that her life was now in his hands. This was it for her. He knew it, she knew it. They both knew it, but she struggled anyway. Good little mudblood she was, knowing that it was her duty in life to give him a show. He grinned and she cried. She turned her head away when he licked the salty trail along her cheek. _

"_Die," __he whispered to her, just next to her ear. _

_And of course, as powerful as he was at that moment, all she could do was obey him. _

_Then, as the lights began to fade in Hermione Granger's world, everything began to feel brighter for him. For he had taken her magic, just like he had taken the magic of all those children and men. It fed him, it ran through him. It made the voice inside his head happy. And when he stared at the pool of blood that had left the mudblood's body, he could see his reflection. _

_He wasn't Draco Malfoy, after all. No, he was Xenophillius Lovegood, grinning at the death of the best hope any child had. _

/

Draco startled awake, panting. Someone was shaking him, but he couldn't see who. What did they want? What the _fuck _was going on? He could barely breathe, but he was aware of several things at once. The sweat dripping down his back and through his hair, the heat that the blanket snared around him was feeding him, the slender hands that were pressing against him, and the voices.

So many voices.

Draco rubbed his eyes, only then realizing that Hermione was next to him, giving him a worried glance. Of course she would be here. They were at her house. He was in her bed. But why was Potter there? What the fuck was _Potter _doing here? Had he killed someone that looked like Hermione and now Potter was here to take him to Azkaban?

He couldn't go to fucking Azkaban! He was too pretty! The other inmates would tear him up!

"What are you talking about, you nitwit?" Potter asked him, his eyes wide. Had he said that out loud? If Draco hadn't been so shaken, he would've flushed. "Are you feeling alright? This is quite important."

"What time is it?" he asked. He could hear how gravelly his voice was and that did make him cringe. "Why the hell are you here, Potter?"

"It's four in the morning," Hermione supplied, glancing at Harry for an answer before turning her worried gaze back to Draco. "What's going on?"

"They've finally set the date for Lovegood to receive the kiss," Harry supplied. Relief flooded Draco. The dream had meant nothing. Lovegood was about to check out of this world and then Draco would never have to think about it again. Lovely. It was all fucking lovely. "His last wish was to see you, Malfoy."

Well, fuck.

"_Why?_" asked Hermione, clearly startled.

Draco shrugged. Harry just stared at the both of them. It occurred to Draco how odd the picture must look to an outsider. Or hell, even to Potter. He was in bed with Hermione Granger, half naked. No, he hadn't slept with her yet in _that _sense, but he supposed Potter thought that that's what they'd been doing. It was an unlikely pair, he would admit, him and Granger. But hell. He liked her. She was pretty. She would help him stay... somewhat sane. He didn't have to think about the dream. Never again.

"What could he possibly want from you, Draco?" she asked, clearly concerned.

"You mean, besides torturing me to death?"

No one had anything to say after that. Hermione didn't ask and Potter, being Potter, just left in the face of an awkward situation. He'd said what he'd had to say, and that was that. Draco was going to have to go see the psychotic murderer that had essentially destroyed his perfectly good life. But that would be _it, _he vowed to himself. He would be done with this nonsense after this visit. He would take Hermione, Hugo, and Scorpius away forever.

He sighed, realizing he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep that night, even though he was completely exhausted. It was both a blessing and a curse, laying there in silence with the girl he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. If she knew the things he'd done, the things that went through his mind, she'd leave him.

_But she won't, _the blade told him. Even then, it was concealed securely against his hip. _She belongs to us. _

And in that moment of delirium, Draco couldn't help but to agree.

**A/N: So, what did you all think? Please let me know in a review, I'd love to hear from you! Don't forget to check out my twitter (at sign murtagh799) to know exactly when the next chapter will be up and additional spoilers. Until next time, here's something to get you guys going: **

_**Don't think you can tell me what to do! **__**Draco yelled to himself, to the voice that was always inside his head. **_

_**But I own you, **__**it replied. **_

**Unsigned Reviews: **

**Buttercup: **Hello! Thank you for this review. To answer your questions: 1. A couple of months have passed between When a Stranger Calls and this story, 2. As mentioned in the previous chapter (and this one) Draco always keeps the sword on his person just in case. More of it to come!


	4. You Don't Own Me

A/N: Hello, my lovelies! Long time, no see! That is, of course, all my fault. If you want an explanation, I have something posted on my profile. If you're not interested, that's quite fine as well! I have to tell you this, though. I cannot guarantee weekly chapters anymore (obviously, you guys have figured this much out already). I'm not even going to promise to try because that'll be something like a lie. Hopefully my must returns to me, but if not, I still hope you choose to continue to read.

In the meanwhile, thank you to everyone who took the time to read, favourite, alert, and review. Here's a special thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter: HarryPGinnyW4eva, bella Malfoy Cullen, buttercup, and maxfangflyon.

As always, reader discretion is advised. Enjoy!

**CHAPTER THREE: YOU DON'T OWN ME**

It wasn't intentional on his part, that he was taking a nap in his office. Honestly, it was a rare thing to happen to Head Auror Harry Potter. _Usually, _he was rather diligent with his work, even if it was only useless correspondence and the like. _Usually, _he was able to master his tiredness and drag himself through many hours of boredom. Usually, he was much more prepared for odd encounters as he _was _faced with them five out of seven days a week.

But hell, Ginny had been pissed off the night before and hadn't been pleased when he'd stuck up for James. Why had he done that? He still wasn't sure. James probably deserved his mother's wrath. Probably... Harry really ought not to have intervened with the howler (even though howlers were completely unnecessary inventions). He really ought to have let James just get it.

Instead, he had been confined to sleeping on the couch, because that's what Ginny thought he deserved. Well, fuck him for letting her talk him into buying such an uncomfortable fucking couch. For all he knew, she'd bought it for this kind of occasion specifically, to make sure he didn't get an ounce of sleep or rest.

So, he'd been tired. And so, he'd taken a nap.

Of course, as things were, the world always seemed to conspire against him in one way or another. He was Harry freaking Potter, after all. Everything would go wrong for him at one point or another. Of course the _one _day he had a moment of weakness, the vultures would swoop down to pick the meat from his bones.

"Mr. Potter!" There was a sharp rapping of knuckles against his desk, knocking ferociously and rudely, startling him violently out of his well deserved slumber. "Mr. Potter – my, are you _intoxicated?_"

Harry almost fell out of his chair in his haste to get up, his face reddening when he realized that he had been caught sleeping at work of all places. God, at the very least... But no, that thought died right in its tracks when he finally stared up at the intruder who had disturbed his nap. It was the mean twin to Vernon Dursley and it appeared that his glare had only intensified with the time they had spent apart.

"I say," the man exclaimed rather indignantly, as if Harry was the most insolent and disgusting thing he'd seen all day. "This is just not _acceptable _behaviour for the Head of the _Auror _department. I _will _have to tell the Minister about this, Mr. Potter. I do not care _who _you are, it is simply against Ministry policy to show up to work _inebriated _and in horrible taste-"

"Hold on!" Harry voiced up finally. He had been staring at the pig face open mouthed during the rant up until that moment. "I am _not _inebriated, I say! I simply dozed off, not that it is any of _your _concern, Mr...?"

"Bartholomew Maximillius Burke," came the reply. The man seemed to be swallowing (perhaps his pride?), his expression indicating that he had a horrible taste in his mouth as he regarded Harry with the utmost contempt. "Order of Merlin first class, Member of the International Warlock Council, Chair member of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and the current head of the Minister's Human Resources Committee."

His voice really could not have been more pompous.

Harry gestured for him to sit in his vacant visitors chair, folding his hands on his desk before him. He began to fix on his most professional expression, at least as professional as he could get in his state. He didn't dare reach up and try o fix the mess that he was sure was his hair. Bartholomew Maximillius Burke was no doubt a pureblood and a judgemental prick that would take no time to be condescending if given the chance. And he would rather like to avoid that, thank you very much.

_Seriously _– Intoxicated?

"Well, Mr-"

"Lord," Burke interrupted, nearly spraying Harry with saliva.

Harry didn't even flinch. "Sorry?"

"The _correct _title for my station, as is given to my family and my stature is _Lord," _Burke enunciated as if Harry were far too stupid and common to understand the more important things in life. "And I would certainly prefer you address me as such!"

"_Lord _Burke," Harry responded, condescendingly. Harry didn't flinch at the glare the tone received. "Surely with as many high and prestigious societies you are a part of, you would be familiar with the exhaustion that accompanies a very _long _work week."

Burke's face was starting to take on that same puce like colour and Harry had to physically stop himself from grinning in amusement. They both knew Burke had never worked an honest day in his life. He was pureblood and that was a rarity to happen in those circles.

"It is still not acceptable!" Burke nearly hissed. "I shall-"

But Harry raised a hand to interrupt what would no doubt have been an amazingly insulting speech.

"You will have o excuse my drowsiness," Harry said as cordially as he could manage. "I am sure the Minister for Magic will be most understanding. He himself is well aware of the long hours and longer nights that accompanies being an Auror. Was he not an Auror himself?" The glare he was receiving somehow intensified. Harry was rather impressed, actually. He hadn't seen a glare like _that _in a while. "Now, what can I help you with?"

And suddenly, the hate that had been covering Burke's face nearly disappeared, replaced instead with a smile. It was a mean little smile, as if Burke knew something Harry didn't. As if Burke was about to make his life a lot more difficult than it already was with an angry wife and monsters for children.

"I would like you last ten case files for review," he said, a little too gleefully for it to be normal. Well, hell, maybe he was just excited for his job – God knew not many purebloods actually _worked. _"Quickly, if you can manage."

Ah, of course he'd continue the condescending role. It didn't matter, though, and Harry didn't particularly care anymore, either. The man was completely normal. There couldn't be anything remotely dangerous about him as this was quite a routine procedure. Every couple of years, the Minister's office would create a new Human Resources Committee (No one knew exactly when, of course) and they would then review each department to make sure everything was running smoothly and that the employees weren't overly abused.

So what if Bart Burke gave him a bad review? He knew Kingsley personally, Kingsley wasn't about to get up and _fire _him for a bad HR report. Geeze, even though loads of people hated his guts, just as many people liked him. Bart had nothing on him, nothing that he could tell anyway. So, Harry most happily got up and fetched the files for him himself, even though a Junior Auror could've easily done it for him. (As a ploy to look nice and delay paperwork further, of course).

It was safe to say that the files were handed over happily.

He watched as Burke surveyed and counted the files – of course, who in their right mind would trust Harry Potter to bring the correct freaking files out? – when Burke looked up suddenly in mock surprise, obvious feigned confusion on his face.

"But, where on earth is the file for Xenophillius Lovegood's case?" he asked, his voice deceptively gentle.

But Harry knew better. Harry had seen the mean look around Burke's eyes and knew Burke was looking to bite. Harry wouldn't give him that satisfaction. Harry wasn't about to be _stepped _on, not if he had anything to say about it.

"Of course," Harry responded just as lightly, well prepared to go on this rant for several hours if need be. "That case file is currently being codified. As per Ministry protocol, all cases must be processed and codified-"

"Yes," Burke cut him off, his voice very much gleeful. "I am well aware of Ministry policy, Mr. Potter. And I am _also _aware that the codification process must take no longer than six months in accordance with Ministry law. Which is... oh my, it _is _tomorrow, isn't it?"

His voice was shrill, his face a rather grotesque mask of excitement. Harry fought the urge to cringe as the image reminded him of a mix between his not so beloved uncle and Dolores Umbridge. Burke inclined his head as if to say – I'm going to get you, you just wait! And then he was making his way out of the office door.

"Oh, and Mr. Potter?" he called over his shoulder. "I would like that case file on my desk tomorrow by lunch. Have a nice day!"

But Harry knew better, of course. Burke didn't want him to have a nice day. He probably wanted him to choke on his own bile as he bled to death in a pool of acid. Well, fuck the unfortunate looking man. Harry had survived too many years to fail at something like this now. He wasn't going to be taken down, not by someone who was... well, as pureblooded as this man clearly was, ideology and all.

Springing into action was what he did best. It only took him a second to reach his fireplace and throw a zealous amount of floo powder into the flames.

"Malfoy!" he shouted!

Almost a full minute later, Draco Malfoy's disgruntled head appeared in the flames. "_What?" _he grumbled. "I'm actually quite busy."

"We have a problem," Harry informed him seriously. "Bartholomew Burke, the new head of the HR committee asked for the Lovegood file. Demanded it, really-"

"_So?_" Malfoy demanded, the frown of displeasure on his face deepening. "What's any of that got to do with me?"

"He loathes me, which tells me he loathes you too." Draco scoffed at that, which was reasonable since a lot of people (especially purebloods) loathed Draco. "Look, he seemed to mean business and we didn't do a clean job. If he gets his hands on that file..."

But Malfoy didn't seem to care or take any of it seriously. When did Malfoy ever take anything seriously?

"This isn't the first time a file's been asked for," Draco eventually yelled, losing his barely there patience. "I'm sure it's routine Ministry crap. You'll be fine and I'll take the fucking slack for everything as usual. Are we _done?" _And his head popped out of the fireplace without a word further, even though Harry was ready to have respond with a huge _no! _

Harry sighed, clearly frustrated. Leave it to Malfoy to ignore everything he said, even though it was bloody important. Their careers could depend on this! He had learned to not doubt his hunches – and his gut told him that he ought to beware of this shady Burke character. Even if it was most likely a subconscious ploy to get out of continuing with paperwork, one could never just take chances.

"Davies," he shouted, calling the other Auror to his office. "Find out everything you can about the new head of the HR department."

"Right away, sir."

"Oh, and..." Davies turned around, waiting expectantly. "Be covert. Need to know basis," Harry muttered.

"Yes, sir."

/

Hermione was trying her absolute best to not outright just glare at the man beside her. Even though to anyone else they probably would have looked like an average run of the mill couple, Hermione was only too aware of the facade. Because even though he was holding her hand in front of everyone else and opening doors for her as they went from shop to shop, Hermione knew that the _last _place Draco Malfoy wanted to be was here by her side.

And really, Hermione wanted to punch the barely there frown off his pretty face.

She wasn't exactly stupid. She _knew _what it was about. He was ashamed to be seen in public with her, even though she had done just as much as he had to be in this "so-called" relationship. She could see it in the set of his shoulders, with ever glance they received, could see it in the way his eyes consistently hardened when it was obvious they were being gossiped about.

Yeah, he'd divorced his wife and now he was with her. And yes, she wasn't a pureblood. She had expected retaliation from just about everyone, knew that she'd receive the vile hate mail, knew that people would stare at her in the street and say mean things about her behind her back – or even to her face. But what she hadn't expected was for the man for whom she had given up her predictable life for to be ashamed to be seen with her.

It was as obvious to her as her disappointment was obvious to him. So, as their spectators continued to remain obvious, he ran through all the gestures for her sake. He smiled when he was supposed to, talked to all the right people when it was expected of him, and never strayed from her side. Even though it was obvious he'd rather disapparate to anywhere but here.

And because she was just that nice of a person, she didn't say anything about it. It would have been rude, tactless, and tasteless for her to do so. It was what everyone would expect her to do. So, she didn't. In fact, they hadn't exchanged a word since they'd left her house earlier that morning to run their errands.

There hadn't been any need to. His actions had said it all to her.

They ran their errands together, as was expected of people who were more than just seeing each other. She went with him to Madame Malkins and waited as he got new robes. He bought her a new dress for her patience. He accompanied her to Flourish and Blotts where she replenished both their reading piles, much to his annoyance. He bought her lunch at Leaky Cauldron and Hermione was positively sure that she had never sat through an awkward meal quite like this.

This was even worse than the time she'd tried to date McLaggen!

"I'm sorry, you know," he said, watching her sullenly as she picked at her salad. Hermione raised her head to look at him, but he was refusing to meet her eyes. Nonetheless, a foolish bit of hope flared up in her chest before she could think any better of it. "The way they stare at you. Couldn't get much worse than it is..."

He trailed off and she was left feeling stupid that she'd even expected a sincere apology from the likes of Draco Lucius Malfoy.

Of course he wouldn't apologize for his own actions, where was the courage and bravery in that? It was obvious what he was trying to say. Sorry you aren't a pureblood, Hermione, but you know how these things are. Surely you can understand. How about I continue to act dodgy and make more excuses on both our behalves while I continue to be ashamed of your questionable blood status?

She felt positively filthy just sitting there with the man that was obviously not going to take her side in this matter. No, she was just going to have to endure it all on her own _and _him on top of it all. Even thinking about the possibility in her head sounded ridiculous. She hadn't taken crap from a man since _Hogwarts. _Should she take anything from him? Especially him?

Oh, _hell _no!

But then she saw the tension in his shoulders, the desperate haunting in his eyes, and didn't have the urge to tell him off like she would have if he had been any other person on the planet. (Besides Voldemort – but he didn't could because he clearly wasn't on the planet anymore.) So, she just sighed and nodded and felt immediately gratified when he seemed at least a little bit relieved.

She missed the flash in his eyes as she returned moodily to her salad.

It wouldn't be... _too _bad, she supposed. They would just have to not go out in public that much to avoid the worst of the gossip and disapproval. He couldn't be _too _ashamed of their situation if there was no one around to make him feel that way. Resolved, she allowed him to help her back into her outer cloak.

She made her way out the door and waited for him as he went up to the bar to settle their tab. Even though she'd always resent him for paying his way into her graces, he just wouldn't take _no _for an answer. At first she'd thought it was just because he was a snotty, sexist bastard. But she supposed it was his outlook on life. Of course he wouldn't let a woman between jobs to pay for something as trivial as lunch, even though said woman had more than enough saved in Gringotts –

"_Ow,_" she exclaimed as she collided into something very hard.

"Watch where you're going, sweetheart!" said a gruff voice somewhere above her head. Tears sprung up in her eyes and she was rather sure the wind had been knocked out of her, but the man she had collided with seemed to be in fine form. "Wouldn't want to damage a pretty face like yours."

He was big, and hairy, and there were at least six of him. Or had her vision been messed with in the collision? How had she crashed into him anyway and how the hell was he made of steel? The man seemed to be reaching out for her, possibly to steady her as she was rather unbalanced and her head was spinning, but Draco was already at her side clutching her elbow tightly.

"Move along," he said to the man quite rudely.

The man simply chuckled, staring at the pair in something that would've been amusement. Hermione couldn't tell because he had quite a large beard and dull brown eyes. He raised his hands up in defence and began to skirt around Hermione. It was quite unfortunate for him that he was so large and the space between Hermione and the door to the Leaky Cauldron was so narrow. Perhaps if Hermione hadn't had a burst of lethargy sweep over her, she would have handled the situation better.

But as it was, the big bearded man brushed a little too brusquely against her as he passed. And everyone knew that Draco Malfoy was notorious for being a loose cannon.

"That is _it_!" Draco exclaimed, pushing the man away from her roughly, steadying her with too much force. She was sure that he'd bruised the both of them. The man had gone sprawling to the floor with a heavy thud, staring up at them bemusedly. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"

"Listen, mate-"

But Draco didn't listen and the man never got the chance to finish his sentence. In fact, Draco didn't even have the time to draw his wand before he was throwing himself against the much larger and probably far stronger gentleman he had just assaulted. For a second, a sweep of terror spread through her. Draco was going to be crushed because Draco hadn't had the forethought to think about who he was messing with.

But Hermione had obviously underestimated her boyfriend because he had fastened one hand around the man's neck. And the man was quickly turning an ungainly shade of puce.

"_Draco!_" she exclaimed. "Draco! Stop it!"

Draco didn't stop. He pummeled the man with his spare fist, smashed his knee into him repeatedly, and it was all elbows from there on. All the while, his grip on the meaty neck never slackened. Hermione could see it, the muscles bulging, the energy that Draco was pouring into the fight, the _anger _that had possessed him right at that moment.

And the magic that was just seeping out of his pores and attacking the man as if he was being crucioed over and over and over and over –

"Draco!" she screamed again, attempting to pull him off the innocent stranger. "Draco!"

He didn't even seem to register her presence. The sight before her was grotesque, all blood and bones and puce coloured skin. She could smell it, the scent of the man's agony as he was assaulted by her boyfriend. Draco's fists were covered in blood and there was a pool spreading next to the man's head. She had to do something or Draco was going to be arrested for murder! Not even two minutes had passed and Draco was going to beat this man to his bloody death.

She drew her wand and screwed up her eyes. "_Stupefy!" _

But the spell just bounced off Draco as if he had a million wards around him at all times exactly for this kind of thing.

She gasped when he whipped his head around, his usually grey eyes now a stormy black. Her heart began to pound. She'd _seen _these eyes before and she knew nothing good ever came of them. They narrowed and she took a step back. Then two. He got up, blood dripping off his arms, his usually clean robes spattered. The man behind him didn't move as he slowly stalked towards her.

"_Draco!" _she exclaimed in a harsh breath.

And then he paused.

His gaze went from her frightened face to the mess he'd made of the stranger behind him who was barely breathing. He looked at her, again, his eyes slightly terrified. Of what he'd done or of what she'd seen? She had absolutely no idea. But when he took a step towards her in his usual gait instead of the predator he'd momentarily turned into and she took a step back in response, his eyes hardened.

Before she could even think to call out his name, to stop him, to make him help her take the now dying man to St. Mungos, he turned on the spot and disapparated. Even though she rushed towards the spot from which he'd disappeared, there was absolutely nothing she could do to bring him back. And so, she stood in the puddle of the strangers' blood and tried her very best to make sure he didn't die. They could do without that kind of trouble.

She could do without being in love with a killer.

/

Draco couldn't face himself for hours after he'd run away from the scene of the crime. All he could do was pace and blast things out of his path with his wand_. _Not that he needed a wand to perform magic anymore. It was really just a source of comfort, using the old piece of wood. It had gotten him through a hell of a lot worse than what he'd just done now.

_And you enjoyed it, _was the whisper in his ear.

He ignored it, ignored it all, and ignored the thoughts that so desperately wanted to soak through his head and permeate his very being. It didn't help that the need to let just that happen was very, very strong. It reeked of power, of death, of _glory... _

_And you enjoyed it! _

The whisper was gleeful this time.

Draco almost growled, but allowing himself to respond in such a fashion would be giving into the madness. And he wasn't mad. Madness was something that was reserved for the other lunatics of his family. _Madness _wasn't something that he had inherited. A fortune, pure blood, and grace, yes he'd inherited those things. But not madness. Madness was reserved for the likes of Bellatrix Lestrange.

And his father.

_But you're just like your father, _the blade concealed at his side whispered. _Only much, much stronger. You need to take things like your father did, like your father took your mother –_

_Don't think you can tell me what to do! _Draco yelled to himself, to the voice that was always inside his head.

_But I own you, _it replied.

"You don't own me!" Draco shouted, completely enraged at the responding laughter in his head. Of course it thought it fucking owned him. But it had another thing coming. He'd gotten past the Dark Lord scot free. What was a fucking _blade _and a few dark thoughts in comparison? Nothing. Nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing. "You _don't _control me."

And the blade was impressed with his conviction in the statement. There was a pause in which all Draco could hear was his own harsh breathing, which sounded ragged even to himself. It was pathetic. He was here, dealing with this menace, being so very weak, while Hermione was out there dealing with the mess he'd made. Maybe he wasn't in the best of shape. And of course the blade would just jump on any opportunity of weakness.

_Blood and death, and blood and death, and blood and death, and blood and death and – You killed him little by little, killed the poor soul, oh you did, you made him bleed, and he died, he did, he died! _

It was madness. If he had to listen to the whisper in his head act so gleefully as that once again, he'd die. He really would. How had he let the monster inside him goad him into acting so...

_You enjoyed it, _the blade said gleefully, as if nearly killing someone in broad daylight was something to be proud of. _She enjoyed it. _

"Shut up!" he nearly screamed.

_You'll enjoy drinking her blood too, _was the responding harsh whisper. _I bet it'll be sweet like Lovegood's was. Do you want her magic? Do you? Do you? You can cut her anytime. She'll let you. She wants it! She wants it! Take it, take it, take it!_

And all Draco could do was sit down, bury his head in his arms, and clutch at his own hair as the blade once again began its chant to make him crazy.

And crazy he was.

/

Rachel Skeeter was once again bored. This however seemed to be a regular occurrence whenever she was forced to meet with the blonde pureblood that was _oh _so pleasant to talk to. Scratch that: The woman was an utter bitch. Someone needed to teach her her place. But obviously, that wasn't Rachel's job. Rachel was only here for the biggest story of the century. And Rachel was going to get it for the Prophet before anyone else had even gotten wind of it!

"So... who exactly are we waiting for?" Rachel asked, twirling her quick notes quill between her fingers with the expression of utter boredom plastered on her face.

"Some man," Manny the nanny responded, equally as bored, when the blonde witch refused to acknowledge either of the other women. "Someone _important, _she says."

Manny was gesturing to Astoria, who was glaring at the both of them. The woman really needed to take a chill pill. Of course she'd recently had gotten her arse dumped by the most gorgeous man alive and that had probably really sucked, but really. The bitch attitude wasn't going to get her anywhere. Especially if she wanted to look good in the papers. She was really going to have to work up a real smile to get anywhere in _that _business.

"Seriously, how long is this going to take?" Rachel finally burst when another ten minutes of silence had passed with only glares to fill the minutes ticking away. "I've got to get back to the office! If I don't have something to hand into my boss _tomorrow, _my arse is getting fired!"

"Don't worry," Astoria responded. Rachel opened her mouth to protest but the blonde only waved her hand dismissively, as if something as important as someone's _livelihood _wasn't even important enough to consider. Rachel huffed. If this meeting wasn't going to be profitable, she was going to cut off Astoria's silky blonde hair herself. And write something really nasty about her. "He should be here any second."

Any second turned out to be exactly twenty five minutes, but when the door to their hotel room finally _did _open, Rachel's mouth opened just as wide.

"Uncle!" Astoria exclaimed, getting out of her chair to hug the big round, purple faced man.

"Astoria," he responded with just as much enthusiasm. The ends of his moustache turned up. Rachel assumed this qualified as a smile. "Shall we get to work?"

And Rachel thought that the look on Astoria's face could only be described as vindictive.

**A/N: I'm not particularly pleased with this chapter as it is (or the state of this story at all) but I suppose if I never fix it, it'll never get updated. I'll try to start working on the next chapter and I do have an idea brewing for another story in the back of my head. Maybe that'll be something I'll start sometime too. **

**Until next time, here's a spoiler: **

"_**But let me tell you this, Mr. Malfoy. They'll catch you before you fall and drown and they'll drag you through the streets until you're bloody and torn. And then they'll burn you until you're just a pile of charred bones and ash, not knowing that it was YOU who gave them the idea in the first place."**_

**Unsigned Reviews: **

**Buttercup: **Thank you for reviewing! Sorry for the absurdly late update. To answer your question, yes Aurelia still exists and yes she will be making an appearance. You'll find out soon enough!


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